


a good day

by youcouldmakealife



Series: between the teeth [34]
Category: Original Work
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-01
Updated: 2016-04-01
Packaged: 2018-05-30 10:37:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,481
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6420334
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/youcouldmakealife/pseuds/youcouldmakealife
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“So that trophy is for—” his mother says.</p>
<p>“Most points,” David says, “in the NHL.”</p>
<p>“So not most goals,” she says.</p>
<p>“No,” David says. “I didn’t have the most goals.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	a good day

David feels like he gets back to his seat on autopilot. They took a few pictures of him with the Art Ross and then took it away ‘for safekeeping’, which David supposes he understands, though he was still reluctant to hand it back to them. When he sits down, Kiro elbows him in the side.

“What?” David asks, but Kiro just elbows him again, grinning.

David doesn’t pay enough attention to the rest of the Awards. He has a level of constant awareness that his phone is resting in his pocket. He put it on silent so he wouldn’t get distracted if he received a text, and now it’s all he can do not to check it, see if he has received one. He resists the urge — the last thing he needs is a picture of him checking his phone, because even if he does it during a commercial break, an out of context photo could paint him as ignoring his peers’ achievements. David knows how the media is.

He finally gives in once the show is over, and while he has a few congratulatory texts, even one from Oleg despite the fact that it’s an insane hour in Moscow, there’s nothing else from Jake. Which shouldn’t be surprising: David didn’t even respond to his text. He tries to think an appropriate response until Kiro elbows him again.

“ _What_?” David asks. 

“You thanked your boyfriend on TV,” Kiro says, the grin back on his face. “In front of _everyone_.”

David looks around, but Kiro said it quietly, and there’s no one within earshot, everyone clearing out of the theatre en masse.

“He’s not my boyfriend,” he says, which Kiro waves away.

“Your love,” he coos, and David flushes dull red.

“He’s moved on,” David mumbles. “So.”

“Has he texted you?” Kiro asks. “Since your speech?”

“Yes,” David says.

“Ah,” Kiro says, very knowingly, but whatever Kiro knows, it’s beyond David’s comprehension.

“We should go to the after party,” David says. It’s not really a ‘should’ for him so much as a professional obligation, one that Kiro doesn’t have, but David would feel better if Kiro was with him.

“Sure,” Kiro says, following David down the aisle, then, “can I touch Art Ross later? After they carve your name in little letters?”

“Yeah, okay,” David says, and laughs when Kiro slings an arm around him, gives him a one armed hug.

The official after party isn’t far, is in the same hotel complex as the theatre itself. When David walks in he expects to recognise many people but personally know no one. Instead one of the first people he sees is his mother, who must have learned of the party from someone she was seated near, since David hadn’t told her, was planning on a breakfast with her tomorrow morning before his flight out, maybe lunch. 

She’s dressed up like she would for one of the more important events, the ones David never went to because children weren’t welcome. He liked those nights, because he was allowed to stay up until his parents — and later his mother — came home, and him and Mary Anne would usually watch a Western Conference game in addition to their usual Eastern Conference. Of the teams in the West, David liked Edmonton best, but Mary Anne liked Calgary, and they’d try to find one of their games, if possible, and agreed to settle on Vancouver or one of the Californian teams if they couldn’t get either of the Albertan teams. To this day David feels faint nostalgia when he plays the Oilers in a way he doesn’t even with the Senators.

“My mother,” David says quietly to Kiro, when his mother spots him, walks over.

“Congratulations are in order,” she says.

“Thank you,” David says. 

“So that trophy is for—” his mother says.

“Most points,” David says, “in the NHL.”

“So not most goals,” she says.

“No,” David says. “I didn’t have the most goals.”

“But you did well,” his mother says.

“He was the best in the NHL,” Kiro says from beside David, redundantly, and she focuses on him for the first time.

“Well,” she says. “Excellent. I’m Charlotte Bainbridge. You are?”

“Kirill Volkov,” Kiro says.

“Nice to meet you, Kirill,” she says, offering her hand, voice heavily accented on his name. It doesn’t sound like the way Vladislav says Kiro’s name, but Kiro doesn’t wince, so David has no way of knowing if it’s wrong. “Are you on David’s team?”

Kiro looks sideways at David, once he’s shaken her hand. David doesn’t meet his eyes.

“No,” Kiro says. “We train together in the summer.”

“That’s nice,” she says. “Are you here for an award as well?”

“No,” Kiro says. “I am here as David’s—” David flinches. “—friend,” Kiro says, after a beat.

“I see,” she says. “You must be good friends.”

David can see the Commissioner working his way through the room, getting closer, and he doesn’t particularly want him to arrive while his mother is there.

“We have to—” David says. “I have to do some networking,” he says, finally, because it’s something that she’d understand. 

“Well,” his mother says, “you two enjoy your night. Be safe, I know how boys get.”

David wonders if she learned it from some government study: ‘The Recreational Behaviour of Canadian Males Aged 18-25’.

“David is a party animal,” Kiro says, and she laughs, says, “I’m sure.”

*

“She is a lot like you,” Kiro says, once they’ve walked away.

“She’s not,” David says, maybe too loud, abrupt. “She’s nothing like me.”

“Okay,” Kiro says. “I only mean polite. A little quiet.”

David clenches his jaw.

“David?” Kiro says.

“Sorry,” David says. 

“She not know you very well,” Kiro says.

“No,” David says.

“I feel sad for her,” Kiro says.

“Pardon me?” David asks.

“That she does not know you,” Kiro says, then, quiet, “You are a good person to know.”

David feels his jaw clench. “Thank you,” he manages, finally. “You are too.”

“Oh,” Kiro says. “Maclean. I go get us drinks.”

“Wait,” David says, “Don’t you want to talk—”, but Kiro’s already swallowed up by the crowd. It seems like it’d be a good opportunity to him, speaking with the Commissioner, but Kiro can be baffling. David’s slowly getting used to it.

“Very impressive achievement,” Commissioner Maclean says, once he’s made it over, clasping David’s hand. 

“Thank you,” David says. “It happens every season, though.” Last season the Art Ross winner had five more points than David, in fact.

Maclean throws his head back in a laugh. David smiles uncomfortably back.

“Funny and talented,” Maclean says. “You’re a credit to the league.”

“Thank you, sir,” David says. 

Kiro arrives almost exactly when Maclean moves on, and David isn’t sure if that was coincidental or not. “Drink,” Kiro says, handing David a glass of sparkling wine. 

“Oh,” David says, looking down at it. “I’m not—”

“Celebrating,” Kiro says firmly, and takes a sip of his own drink, something mixed David can’t identify.

“Okay,” David says. “Celebrating.”

He gets slapped in the back before he can finish a sip, and coughs, turning to glare at what turns out to be Dave, who smiles at him wide enough that David suspects it’s not actually a real smile.

Dave pulls him in for a one armed hug once David’s stopped coughing. “You’re going to give me a fucking heart attack,” Dave says, quiet, close to David’s ear. “Planning on any other grand declarations?”

“What—” David starts, then remembers that Dave’s well aware of things between him and Jake. “I didn’t mean anything but what I said,” he says, finally.

Dave pulls back just so he can laugh in his face. David tries to be offended, but Dave’s got the sort of laughter that catches on — Kiro doesn’t even know Dave beyond the introduction today, hasn’t heard what he’s said, but he’s laughing too. Though perhaps that’s because Kiro likes to laugh, especially at David.

Usually David would feel uncomfortable, two people laughing at him, but this time it’s hard to bite back a laugh of his own, like their laughter is contagious. “I mean it,” he tells Dave. “I didn’t mean anything else by it.”

“Yeah, he know that?” Dave asks.

David doesn’t have an answer for him, and suspects the answer Dave wants isn’t the one that he expects to receive.

“Yeah,” Dave says. “I thought so.” Pulls David in again so Kiro can’t hear him say, “You let me know before you go doing any more boneheaded romantic gestures.”

“It wasn’t—” David protests, and Dave gives him a look. “I’m not planning to do it again,” he revises.

“I don’t think you planned it in the first place,” Dave says, and David winces, caught.

“I deserve at least two percent more for the ulcer I’m pretty sure is your fault,” Dave says.

“Ulcers are bacterial,” David says. “It’s a myth that they’re caused by stress.”

“Of course that’s the part you focus on,” Dave mutters, then says, “I didn’t see your father here.”

“He didn’t ask for tickets in time for them to accommodate him,” David says. He’s never considered himself a very good liar, but it’s surprisingly easy to say.

“Oh,” Dave says. “That’s a shame.”

“Yes,” David says.

“Talked to your mother,” Dave says. 

“Oh,” David says.

“You did really fucking good, kid,” Dave says, apropos of nothing.

“Thanks, Dave,” David says.

“Minus that shit at the end,” Dave adds.

“Sorry,” David says.

“Yeah, you know what?” Dave says. “You don’t look sorry at all.”

David looks down at his glass.

“You fucking smiling?” Dave asks.

“No,” David says, but he’s not entirely sure he’s telling the truth.

*

They talk to Dave for a while longer. Dave doesn’t mention the speech again, either because Kiro can hear or because he’s said his piece, so instead he tells them about his drink with Buffon earlier. David doesn’t know if Buffon is as bad as Dave’s making him out to be — he probably isn’t, as high profile an agent as he is — but Dave’s recounting is funny, and David’s learned that with funny stories, most of the time, the truth matters less than the jokes, which are usually based on exaggeration.

A few executives come over to speak to him and Dave, and Kiro leaves to say hello to a Penguin teammate. It’s some time before he returns, when David’s alone for the first time in about an hour. Dave went out to take a call he deemed ‘important’ with a frown, so David thinks it might have to do with one of his other clients, since Free Agent Frenzy is coming up on Canada Day.

“Party time,” Kiro says, throwing an arm around David’s shoulders. “Time to go.”

“We’re at a party,” David says.

“This is not party,” Kiro says. “This is event.”

“Those are the same thing,” David says.

“No, Davidson,” Kiro says. 

“I’m not going to a club with you or anything,” David says.

Kiro sighs. “Fine,” he says. “But we should go for celebration drinks somewhere agent and Commissioner are not.”

“It’s probably rude—” David starts.

“You say hello to everyone you need to?” Kiro asks.

“Well,” David starts.

“Goodbye, everyone,” Kiro says to no one in particular, dragging David by the arm.

“Okay, I’m going,” David relents.

They go to a restaurant, in the end, since most of the bars nearby are crowded, raucous, too close to the clubs David vetoed. Neither of them have eaten since the room service lunch, so they order a few overpriced appetizers, get a bottle of wine with a price tag that makes David wince.

“You won huge trophy,” Kiro chides, apparently sensing David’s reluctance. “Not every day thing. Not even every season thing.”

“Yeah, okay,” David says.

“You sure you not want to go to club, find pretty—” Kiro starts. “What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas,” he says when David glares at him.

“I don’t think that’s actually true,” David says.

“Silly to focus only on your American,” Kiro says. “You are young, rich winner. Pretty, too!”

“Don’t call me pretty,” David snaps.

“Very handsome,” Kiro says, looking serious, and then immediately laughs at whatever David’s face does in response. “I just think not healthy,” Kiro says. “You can find someone, easy.”

“It’s not safe,” David says.

“You can find someone who can keep secret,” Kiro says. “I think there are contracts if you trust no one. They tell, you sue.”

“They tell, it’s a little late,” David says. “I don’t want to.”

“Sue?” Kiro asks.

“Find someone,” David says.

“Find someone not — the American,” Kiro says, avoiding the pronoun again, which David appreciates, since the place is busy enough that there’s no guarantee they won’t be overheard, and if there’s any time in Vegas that David’s liable to be recognised, it’s the night of the NHL Awards, not all that far from the theatre.

“Not healthy,” Kiro repeats.

“I don’t think it’s unhealthy not to want to just pick anyone up,” David says.

“How many people have you been with?” Kiro asks.

“That isn’t any of your business,” David says.

“Just American, then,” Kiro says. “David.”

“Stop,” David says.

“That’s not—” Kiro says.

“Then I’m not healthy, okay?” David says, voice rising toward the end.

Kiro’s quiet for a moment. “Okay,” he says. “I let it go. It is your night.”

“Thank you,” David says.

After the first glass of wine Kiro excuses himself to the bathroom, and David pulls his phone out again. There are a few more texts, among them one from Dave telling him to behave, but nothing from Jake. David thumbs into the conversation, looking at Jake’s last message, the punctuation of a single heart, before he types out _Can I talk to you?_ , slips his phone back in his pocket before Kiro returns.

He waits until they’re done eating, finishing the bottle of wine in the process. David can’t usually tell the difference between good wine and bad wine, but this tastes smoother, he thinks, somehow, goes down easier than it usually does, and he’s surprised and a little embarrassed at how quickly he’s drinking, keeping pace with Kiro, if not outpacing him since Kiro’s carrying most of the conversation as usual, relaying stories from what David thinks might be a never ending pool of amusing anecdotes. Everywhere Kiro goes, something interesting seems to happen. David doesn’t think he’s as interesting as the people Kiro knows, but then, Kiro could probably make tonight a funny story too, if he decided to tell it. David’s faintly comforted by the fact he doesn’t think Kiro would. That he is, in fact, confident that Kiro wouldn’t.

“You wouldn’t tell someone a funny story about me, right?” David asks, though, before he can help it. He’s not used to wine, certainly not used to more than a single glass with a meal, and it’s going to his head faster than he would have expected.

“Many funny stories,” Kiro says. “Art Ross winner cannot swim! Wears suits in summer!”

“I mean about—” David says. “Me,” he says, finally. “And. The American.”

It’s stupid, calling Jake the American, but obviously it’s a better idea than the alternative.

“Of course not,” Kiro says, frowning. “I told you.”

“I know,” David says. “I just. Wanted to check, I guess.”

“Not a funny story anyway,” Kiro says, quietly enough that David almost misses it, and David doesn’t know what that means, but he probably doesn’t want to, anyway.

“So tell me another funny story,” David says, and is unsurprised when Kiro immediately thinks of one.

*

“I’m going to get some air,” David says, after their plates have been cleared. “The wine.”

“Want me to come?” Kiro asks.

“No, that’s fine,” David says. “I’ll only be a minute.”

David wishes it was winter — David always wishes it was winter, but right now, when he needs bracing, cold air, a desert summer night isn’t really a good substitute. He pulls his phone out again, sees that Jake’s answered with a _sure i have the day off trainin tmrw so ill be up late_ , and hits call before he can rethink himself.

“Hi,” Jake says, answering on the second ring. “Art Ross winner.”

David smiles. “Hi,” he says.

“So that was—” Jake starts, doesn’t finish. David wishes he would. “Is Dave mad?”

“Yeah, kind of,” David says. “He says we’re giving him an ulcer.” Jake was only implied in the comment, but it was a pretty strong implication.

“We probably did,” Jake says, and David considers telling him that isn’t possible, decides not to.

“I miss you,” David wants to say, doesn’t. Jake’s moved on, because David told him to, because David’s not — because David can’t. How David feels is irrelevant.

“How are you?” David asks instead.

“Good,” Jake says. “Probably not as good as you.”

“Well,” David says.

“You earned it,” Jake says. “You were fucking amazing all season, seriously.”

“Thank you,” David says, then, “thanks, Jake.”

“Of course,” Jake says. 

David’s supposed to say something next. Jake said something, so David should say something, and it isn’t that he doesn’t have anything to say, he does, he just — he can’t think of something that he _should_ say, that would be appropriate. It isn’t an uncommon problem for him, but usually he just doesn’t say anything. Jake’s used to that from him, but he knows that isn’t fair. He’s been thinking about it, considering thanking Jake, rejecting the consideration — couldn’t fully reject it, apparently — and Jake challenges him, on the ice, makes him better, but off the ice he —

David is tired of Jake making allowances for him. He thinks probably Jake is too.

“Dave called it a boneheaded romantic gesture,” David says, stupidly.

“David,” Jake says, soft. David knows he shouldn’t have said it, and that just underlines the point, but now that he’s started he’s finding it hard to stop.

“It’s probably not healthy that you’re the only one I’ve—” David says.

“One you’ve what?” Jake asks when David doesn’t finish.

“Sorry,” David says. “I’ve had too much to drink.”

“One you’ve what?” Jake repeats. 

“You know,” David says. 

“I don’t,” Jake says. “I’m not being dumb on purpose.”

“You’re not dumb,” David says quietly.

“Thanks,” says Jake. “I still don’t know what you were going to say, though.”

“It’s been over a year,” David says instead.

“I know,” Jake says. “I know how long it’s been.”

“So it’s not healthy that—” David says.

“Whatever you’re going to say,” Jake says, when David stops again, “I’m probably right with you.”

He isn’t, though. The photogenic girls captured on the gossip sites, who knows who else. Other girls, David’s sure. Guys, maybe. David’s not asking. He doesn’t want to know. Jake’s moved on — David knew he would, obviously, Jake even told him he would, but — Jake’s not right with him on this. Jake’s moved on. David’s not sure what he’s supposed to move on to. He knows Kiro isn’t wrong, knows that he should move on. That he should at least want to.

“What you said,” Jake says, when David doesn’t respond. “That was — thanks.”

“I wouldn’t have mentioned you if you didn’t deserve it,” David says.

“I know,” Jake says. “So thanks for thinking I deserved it.”

“You’re welcome,” David says, then, “I should go,” after a lull where they’re both quiet, the phone barely picking up the soft rhythm of Jake’s breathing.

“Sure,” Jake says. “Gotta get back to the party.”

“I miss you,” David says, then, before he can stop himself.

Jake’s quiet.

“I shouldn’t have said that,” David says. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have—”

“I miss you too,” Jake says. “Look, I — you should go celebrate.”

“Right,” David says. “Of course.”

David stays outside for a few minutes, doesn’t feel ready to go back in. 

“One minute, you say,” Kiro says, when David returns. “Did fans find you?” He frowns, then. “You look like you have been slapped,” Kiro observes, and when David doesn’t respond, “Want to go back to your room? We can drink tiny bottles of vodka, watch dumb movie with lots of guns.”

“Yeah,” David says. “That’d be good.”

“I can pay the bill, if you want to go a—” Kiro says.

“No,” David says. “No, it’s. I have this, of course you don’t have to pay. I’m fine.”

Kiro gives him a look David’s too tired to try to figure out.

“Fine,” Kiro says. David doesn’t know if he’s repeating David or agreeing.

“Yep,” David says, an answer to either. “If you want to go ahead—”

“I will stay with you,” Kiro says.

“Thanks,” David says, and doesn’t shrug Kiro’s hand off when he squeezes David’s shoulder, lets it rest there until Kiro pulls away.

“Long day,” Kiro says, finally.

“Yeah,” David says. “Long day.”

“Good day, though?” Kiro asks.

“I don’t know,” David says, then, after a moment, “I think so.”


End file.
